


The Final Victim?

by GoldFinchMacaw



Category: Original Work
Genre: Blood, Bondage, Delving into the mind of a psychopath, F/M, Female Rapist, Female on Male Rape, Gore, Kidnapped, Kidnapping, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not really a psychopath, Original work - Freeform, Rape, Serial Killer, Serial Killer/Victim, Torture, drugged, it's complicated - Freeform, kidnap, psychopathy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-19 04:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20325475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldFinchMacaw/pseuds/GoldFinchMacaw
Summary: When Jack, a cop working a very serious case involving a serial killer who has a tendency to torture their victims, gets kidnapped by the very serial killer he was trying to stop, he gets into a spot of trouble. (To say the least)





	1. Making a Mess

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short chapter, but don't worry, they'll get longer and more graphic soon!

FROM JACK’S PERSPECTIVE

My head was ringing loudly. It felt like I’d been asleep for days. I can’t quite remember what had happened. I just remember my last case. What was it again? That wasn’t important. Right now, my hands were cuffed tightly together and I was sitting on what felt like a mattress. It takes me a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the lights, and when I finally manage to look around, I see I am in a small room. The walls are solid stone, painted white. The floor, concrete. There are two doors, one slightly ajar. I’m guessing that the other was the exit. There had to be a way out… right? I test my footing, trying to boost myself up to a standing position, but it was hard. My whole body aches. I must’ve been drugged. It was the only explanation I can think of. But by who? I can’t remember anything. When I finally manage to boost myself up, even though I have to use the wall for support, I have a quick check around. The door I assumed was the exit was locked. Of course. That only left the other. My breathing is quick, and I have a sharp pain in my leg. Maybe I bumped it? That didn’t matter. I know I have to push that aside, as I stumble to the other door. For a second, I think it is locked too, but I manage to get it open. The creaking door reveals a small, but surprisingly tidy, bathroom. Well, not really a bathroom. It had a small shower in the corner, but no way to turn it on, and a toilet with a few rolls of toilet paper, not that they’d help me. Great. I have found nothing useful, and my entire head is aching. I feel like I could pass out at any moment. I stumble back through the doorway, looking over at my mattress. It had a thin blanket folded up beside it, and a pillow. Nothing fancy… then again, I don’t even know where I was. Sleeping certainly isn’t my top priority. Rest, however, was certainly up there. I only manage to get a few steps before my legs gave out on me, crashing into the concrete floor. I yelp in pain, but it was washed away soon enough as the room started to spin. There was blood? I manage to get a hand up to my head, and sure enough, blood is seeping out of the wound. Great. I managed to look around, but if I don’t get help, I might have killed myself in the process.

FROM ROSE'S PERSPECTIVE

His drugs should be starting to wear off now. I didn’t give him too high a dose, only enough to keep him knocked out for the trip here. Why don’t I hear screaming then? Everyone screams when they wake up. I think I should check on him. I’m hesitant at first, knowing this is the first time I’ve kidnapped a trained cop, but it can’t be too difficult. It takes a while to get the locks open. Too long. I have to replace those at some point, they’re all rusted. I push that aside, creaking the door open just enough to see him lying on the ground. Maybe the drugs are still working? I freeze for a moment when I see the blood. It’s only a small pile, nothing too serious, but that’s only from here. I rush over, rolling him onto his back. It’s a small wound. Looks like he fell over, but it’d keep him knocked out for a while, and he’d certainly be dizzy for a day or so after he woke up.  
“I leave you alone for five minutes...” I joke to myself, before getting up and heading upstairs. Maybe he’d have to be restrained, just to keep himself safe. The drugs will wear off before long, though. I return less than a minute later with a rag, some bandages, and a small bowl of cold water. I dab at the wound, and sure enough, it’s nothing serious, as I reveal when I wipe away most of the blood. There’s a small gash, nothing a few weeks rest couldn’t fix. It’s the mess I’m worried about. Blood, all over my nice cleaned floor. I’m not as much of a neat freak as some people, but even I don’t like massive pools of blood. For now, I just need to bandage the wound. I wrap it around his head once, twice, three times, before tucking it under itself. I’d use a pin, but I can’t go arming a man who can’t even stay awake for 5 minutes. I drag him back onto the mattress, hooking his cuffs into a small nook. It was meant for chains, but it’ll keep him still either way. He just won’t have as much crawl space. I sigh looking at the pool of blood, but I have to clean it eventually. Might as well do it now before it stains.


	2. The First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our two main characters meet... and neither is quite what the other expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so not too graphic yet, but I put a little blood in there. I know some of you will like that. <3

Only a few hours have passed before Jack comes to. He’s quite groggy, but at least he can think straight. He’s a little disappointed it was more than a nightmare though. Through his disappointment, he remembers the fall. Clank. He can’t reach his head to feel it. He can’t reach anything. Only when he realises his hands are bound tightly above and behind his head do his arms start to hurt. They aren’t meant to bend like this, and it certainly isn’t comfortable. At least now his thoughts are a little clearer. He remembers bits and pieces of what happened, but it’ll take a couple days for the drugs to completely clear from his system. What exactly does he remember? It’s all in pieces, scattered around his mind like pool balls after the first shot. There’s a picture in his mind of a woman. Wait, a woman? That doesn’t make any sense. The profile on the serial killer they were hunting said it was a man. Women tend to be more emotional in their killings, whilst this killer was cold. Methodical. Could they have been wrong? He didn’t have time to ponder that question when he heard a rattling. He had options, sure, but none of them would help. He decided to fake sleep, hoping at the very least he’d hear something useful. He shut his eyes, resting his neck to the side as if he hadn’t woken at all. Then the door opened. Silence.

Rose stood there, eyes fixed on him. His breathing wasn’t calm. He wasn’t sleeping, but she decided to let him play his little game. She walked over, testing how sensitive the wound was. He was definitely committed, and refused to flinch even when she applied pressure. The bandage would need to be changed later, but for now, she wanted to talk to that cop that had been hunting her. Two years. Sixty eight victims. And one cop. Just the one. Honestly, she was a little disappointed because it had been so easy. Sure, most of her victims didn’t put up much of a fight, but this was a trained professional. He was trained to hunt serial killers- no. Not serial killers. A serial killer. Her. And he failed. Simple as that. She tried to push the thoughts aside, be as methodical as she knew she could be, but it was hard. She didn’t want to be the normal serial killer with him. She wanted to understand him. To learn from him. To let him learn from her. Was that so wrong? It didn’t matter. She had a small switchblade in the back of her sock… it would certainly get a reaction… or she had a blood red karambit. It was her favourite. It could arch perfectly along the lines of a neck, and not cut a single bit. She thought it over, grabbing the switchblade. Pop. He flinched. She smiled inwardly, looking down at him. He tried to cover it up, he tried to relax, but he couldn’t. He could only hope she didn’t notice. But she did. And she loved it. She eased the blade down, pressing it softly against his chin.  
“I know you’re awake… stop pretending.” She meant for it to sound cold and threatening, but it came out like a mother scolding her favourite child. Too sweet. But it worked. His eyes fluttered open as he burned a hole in her face.  
“Good. How’s the head doing?” Finally. Her cold voice was back. She liked that voice. She practiced it for so long, for so many years, before she tried it on a victim. No response. Just his eyes, glaring at her. Searching her, almost. For what? Weakness? Reason? It didn’t matter. She had the knife. She had the power.

“Who are you?” He spoke. His voice was raspy, a little uneven, although he tried to hide it. The words shocked her. He’d been after her for two years, and he didn’t even know who she was?  
“My name is Rose, and I’ll be your kidnapper for the evening.” She kept her voice even, never daring to let a single sliver of emotion work its way in.  
“Well, Rose.” He hissed out her name like it was venom. “In case you weren’t aware, you have kidnapped a high ranking officer. One that doesn’t have time for this. So I sugge-”  
“No.” That one word response sent chills down Jack’s spine.  
“No?”  
“No.” The second time didn’t have the same effect. He felt rage build up inside of him. 

He took his chance, pushing himself up. He wasn’t sure what he would do. He couldn’t thrash forward without cutting himself on the knife, but he moved, and that was enough to show he wasn’t docile. But for whatever reason, Rose didn’t seem to care. She just watched. In her eyes he saw a flicker of.. What? Amusement? It certainly wasn’t anger, but you’d think so by her response. She pressed the knife forward, digging it into his neck. It was instinct to move away, and so he did, until his head was pressed against the wall, and the knife still came closer. It dug into his neck, a trickle of warm, red blood running down his throat. There it was again. The amusement… She was enjoying this. The second she pulled the knife away, he let out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding.

“Why are you doing this?” He asked shakily.  
“You must know already.” Nothing. A blank look, confusion, maybe. “You’ve been searching for me for so long...but I got you first. And now, you’re next.” The next one wasn’t a blank look. He covered it quickly, but not quick enough. Her lips curled up in a smile, looking him over again. It was fear.  
“If you’re going to kill me, I have-” He cut himself off. Her eyes were the same confused look he just had. Except hers was fake. It was fake, but something about it seemed… real.  
“Kill you? But we haven’t even started.”


	3. Dinner Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He eats. Not much else to it, except for a little more character growth. I promise it'll get more interesting soon!

It had been days. Why wasn’t she talking to him? Jack was going crazy. She came down a couple of times to change the bandage, but even when he tried to talk to her, she just ignored him. What was she hoping to gain? He hadn’t been given any water, or food. He was weak, and he knew it. What was worse- she knew it. But he couldn’t do anything about that. He had been allowed out of the chains she’d switched him into a couple of times to go to the toilet, but she had always been armed, and he had always been cuffed. He hadn’t tried to escape. If there was one thing he knew about kidnappings, it was to build rapport. But it didn’t work if she wouldn’t talk to him. Again, the door opened. He didn’t have any way of keeping track of time, or the days, for that matter, but from what he could guess, she came in once a day to fix the bandage and look him over, twice a day to let him use the bathroom. It was bathroom time, but she didn’t look like she had the keys. He gulped. She had the knife. It was a different knife this time, a longer one. More of a dagger than a knife, to be honest. But it was a knife.

“Rose. Good to see you again.” His voice was surprisingly stable as he watched her. This was her routine, no matter what she came in for. She walked over to the bathroom, opened the door. She looked it over, he assumed for mould, or mildew, and then she shut the door. Unless it was bathroom time, then that would be counter intuitive. Next, she struts over to him, checks the bandage. Sometimes, she adjusts it, but not today. She barely glanced at it. She was interested in him.  
“It was Jack, right? You never did introduce yourself to me.” The sweet voice again. She needed it to leave. She wanted it to leave. But it didn’t. It didn’t matter, the message got through. She knew more than he told her, and he didn’t know quite how to respond to that. Had she been watching him all the time he’d been watching her? He didn’t have much time to ponder that. She clicked her fingers, bringing him back.  
“Yeah- It’s Jack.”  
“Well, Jack, today is the day we have a little… chat.”

It didn’t take too long for him to have his head back against the wall. She liked him like that. Helpless. Defenseless. The knife was pressed against his chin, in the same spot as last time. It had scabbed over, but it wasn’t healed. For whatever reason, she didn’t cut this time. Instead, she cuffed him. He hadn’t even seen the cuffs. He sighed in relief when he saw the keys. She must’ve just been trying to scare him- right? It was just a normal day, the same old routine.

She dragged him up to his feet, and he stood. He didn’t have any other options. She gave him a minute to stretch, which wasn’t normal, but was appreciated.  
“What are we talking about?” He asked, not really paying attention to her movements. It had been the same for days. Why would things change now?  
“Hmm?” She seemed distracted. Her eyes never left him, but something was off. It felt like they weren’t looking at him, they were looking through him. Dissecting him. Although, she didn’t need to use her eyes. “Oh- Right. I’ll show you.”  
That was weird. Show him what, exactly? The door was still open… more than a crack, too. Normally she’d have it shut after she came in. But it was open. And the bathroom wasn’t. There was no point running, that’s where she wanted him to go. He followed her instructions, all too aware the knife was still nearby, although hidden. He hadn’t realised he was in a basement, but as he trotted up the stairs, it made sense. Things felt too natural. The upper- ground. The ground floor smelled like spring. Sweet, innocent, and fresh. It was a welcome scent, but he didn’t trust it. He didn’t trust Rose, that was for sure, but the innocence here? It seemed impossible.

“Why am I here, Rose?” Another attempt to gain rapport. Using her name, connecting them.  
“Why not.” Aaand another unhelpful answer.  
Only a few more steps. The second floor certainly smelt more like Rose. It was grungy, a little gloomy, but still sweet enough to lure you in. There was a certain whiff in the air… it made Jack’s stomach rumble. Of course it did. He hadn’t eaten in days. She led him through what felt like a maze, but it was only a hallway. A hallway he couldn’t see the end of. Mainly because he wasn’t looking. And, at the end of it, was another small room. It smelled amazing. And soon, he saw why. There was a chair, with a couple of chains on it. For him, of course. And the other- His breath hitched in his chest. There was a rack of knives. All sorts. Some even still had little bits of blood on them, dried, but blood nonetheless. He was still hopeful about the table though. On it sat what looked like a thanksgiving dinner, minus the turkey, and the stuffing… and everything except some water, potatoes, sandwiches, and a small plate of ham. He could smell it, he wanted to dive in. 

He stepped forward, but Rose’s arm stopped him in his tracks. Her touch made him shiver, and not in a good way. He knew what this woman was capable of.  
“Sit. We are going to have a little talk, and if you behave, you get to eat. Understand?” Another glare. He was scared, but he didn’t want to admit that. Eventually, he sat. He resisted when she tried to buckle his hands down, not wanting to feel so helpless around all the knives, but when she held one to his throat? Well, that was pretty convincing. 

“Okay, Jack. Time for our little chat to start.”   
She picked up a larger knife, almost like a cleaver, and started slicing the ham. She was trying to intimidate him.  
“Good. I’ve been wanting to ask-”   
His words were rewarded with another glare, and after regaining his composure, he continued.   
“I have questions, Rose. And since I’m not getting out of here, what’s the harm in answering?”   
“Fine. What do you want to know?”   
Where to start… why she kidnapped him was pretty obvious… her m.o was obvious. Everything felt obvious. Except…  
“Why now?”  
“I thought you were hungry.”  
“No- Why kidnap me now?”  
“Oh.”   
He waited a good 10 seconds.  
“Oh?”  
“You were getting close. I couldn’t let that happen.”  
“Close? I didn’t even know you were a chick!”   
That was a mistake. He thought it’d help, but the flare of anger in her eyes? That wasn’t helpful. Neither was the knife she so graciously pressed into his neck.  
“Say that again.” He couldn’t. She knew he couldn’t. If he so much as opened his mouth, the knife would cut deep into his flesh. Instead, he waited. He waited for what felt like hours, but was probably a minute, max. Then she pulled the knife away, and returned to carving the ham like nothing had happened.  
“I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”  
“It’s fine.” The cold voice was back. She didn’t even need to force it.  
“Rose, I know you don’t like me… but I can’t live without food and water.”  
“I know.”

He hated feeling so useless. He tested the restraints on the chair but they held tight.

“I’ve read your case files up and down, 50 times over.”  
“And?” This part was risky..  
“And.. you’ve never let anyone die like this before.”  
He flinched as she lifted her head up, looking at him, but it wasn’t anger, or frustration. In her eyes, he could see pity. She picked up a bottle of water, unscrewing the lid and holding it to his lips. It didn’t take long before the bottle was empty. Next was the sandwich. His stomach hurt from eating and drinking after the days without, but he still ate. He ate until the table was empty. And then she tossed him back into the basement. Leaving him to rot. Again.


End file.
